


Catch a Breath, Catch a Smile

by softraincloud



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Busking, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softraincloud/pseuds/softraincloud
Summary: Working out is said to help with losing weight, and so Jinki and Kibum hire themselves a personal trainer. However, nowhere in the fine print was there anything about a handsome busker with an angelic voice who unwittingly both distracts from and helps with the workout.
Relationships: Kim Jonghyun/Lee Jinki | Onew
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. An Uphill Battle

**Author's Note:**

> One day I thought about busker Jonghyun, and something about it really resonated with me… so I ended up writing this little AU.
> 
> A million thanks to my beta readers… my hero (you know who you are) & the wonderful your-hannahbanana ([tumblr](https://your-hannahbanana.tumblr.com/)|[AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionara)). They were amazing and I'm so grateful!

“Lee Jinki, you're getting fat.”

Jinki nodded absently, gazing at his phone screen and chewing his cheese pizza. Perhaps he should have gotten the milk foam topping for his bubble tea after all, or at least some extra pearls. The shop they'd ordered from was usually a bit stingy with those.

“Hey, are you listening?”

“Hm?” He turned his head toward Kibum beside him on the couch and was promptly treated to a dramatic eye roll.

“I just called you fat.”

Jinki chuckled and turned his attention back to his phone. “That's all right. Tell me, is there a way to change an order once it's sent?”

“You could cancel and order again. Why?”

“That milk foam topping looks really good.”

“For goodness' sake, Jinki. I don't like repeating myself, but you're not paying attention.” Kibum grabbed Jinki's arm, and there was a touch of despair in his voice as he went on, “We're getting fat.”

“Hmm.” Jinki tried tapping their order. He missed and landed on the dessert menu instead.

“I mean, it's been a steady downward slope, but we really started filling out around Chuseok… Look at that!”

Something poked Jinki's belly.

“And look at my thighs!” There was a flump, and Kibum's voice came muffled and dejected, “I shouldn't have made that pizza.”

Jinki startled and stared at Kibum, or rather at the huge, fluffy cushion he was buried underneath. “Don't say that! It's delicious.”

Kibum's furrowed brows poked out from behind the cushion's fuzzy fringes. “That's kind of the problem.”

His plate with thick, juicy pizza slices arranged in a neat circle sat on the dainty coffee table on his side of the couch. So far, there were only one and a half slices missing. The rest would be cold long before he'd finish it if he continued at this pace.

“So,” Jinki said through a mouthful of his own fourth slice of pizza, “does that mean you're not eating yours anymore?”

Kibum's whole head popped into view; he was glaring. “Hands off,” he snapped and took a bite of the half slice he'd abandoned during his tirade. “I'm not dieting. At least not yet. But I'm serious, everyone at the office is going to the gym. One of our editors got a personal trainer about a month ago, and he lost, like, half of his weight! That guy was the only one who made me feel good about myself, and now he's getting a six-pack.”

He punched the cushion and then hugged it tightly to his chest with his free hand. It was a pitiful sight.

“If you're that worried about it, you can do it too,” Jinki suggested, but Kibum only sighed mournfully.

“You know I can't do stuff like that by myself. It's not like I haven't tried working out before, I just have no motivation alone.”

Suddenly, he grabbed Jinki's arm again and looked at him imploringly. “Let's do it together? Please.”

“Oh.” Jinki blinked. “You're asking so nicely.”

A hopeful spark flashed up in Kibum's eyes. “So yes?”

Jinki smiled and turned to his bubble tea order once more. “I'll be your cheerleader. You can work out, and I'll cheer you on from the sidelines.” He raised his arm in a sluggish fist pump. “Go go, Kibum!”

A huff came from Kibum. “You're the worst friend.”

“But I mean it. I'd do it.” Jinki managed to select his order, and then he finally found the button he was looking for. “Ah! I got it. Yes, I think I'll change it to milk foam and extra pearls.”

Kibum's voice was muffled by the cushion again. “Just cancel mine while you're at it.”

A week later, Jinki had almost forgotten about this conversation. In another week's time, he probably would have.

After coming home from work late one afternoon, he spent another few hours checking his e-mails and following up on a couple of small issues he hadn't been able to deal with during company time. He was tired but content when he finally ticked the last point off his to-do list and turned off the computer. Now came his favorite part of the day.

He switched on the stereo and pressed play on whichever CD was inside at the moment. Jazzy piano music sounded from the large speakers, one of the few things in his home he'd spent a more generous amount of money on, and filled the apartment with its calm melody. He hummed along to the soothing tune while microwaving chicken and instant noodles and pouring himself half a glass of wine. He then dimmed the lights with the remote control, tossed it onto the sofa, and padded over to the bedroom.

The book about the origins and history of the Korean tea ceremony he'd been reading was waiting on his pillow, his cozy comforter laid out and ready for him to snuggle up in. Everything was set; he only needed to change into more comfortable clothes.

Jinki opened the drawer. The sight of his favorite pair of sweatpants on top of the pile lifted his mood further; he hadn't worn it in at least two weeks, as he'd been putting off doing the laundry, and he'd missed its soft fabric and baggy fit. He swiftly took off his work attire, put on a loose shirt, and pulled the sweatpants over his legs — and halted. Something wasn't right.

He tugged at the waistband, up a bit, down a bit. How odd. That wasn't very comfortable at all. He tugged again in an attempt to alleviate the pressure, with little success. The rubber band remained tight, digging into his skin.

A horrible idea occurred to him — had the pants shrunk in the washing machine? He quickly dug up a couple of other pieces of clothing he remembered being in that wash cycle. They looked perfectly normal, thank goodness. Now that he thought about it, the sweatpants had looked as they'd always had as well, and they still reached his ankles. It seemed unlikely they would have solely decreased in width.

This left only one inevitable conclusion: that, maybe, Kibum had a point.

Jinki had admittedly noticed that a few pairs of pants or the odd button-up felt tighter around the waist than usual, but he hadn't thought much of it, as formal wear wasn't comfortable to begin with. Had he really put on that much?

A sense of foreboding was clouding over him, realization sinking in. If he continued gaining weight, even his trusted baggy clothes wouldn't fit anymore eventually. This meant he would have to go shopping. His only other option was forgoing pants altogether, which was feasible at home but rather impractical for a professional environment.

“Oh dear,” he mumbled to himself. As if the idea of shopping for clothes itself wasn't troubling enough, there was also the issue of Kibum. If Jinki were to go by himself, Kibum would no doubt spot any new article of clothing on him and be insulted he hadn't been invited to come along. If they were to go together, it would result in an excessive shopping spree that would go on for hours and leave Jinki with sore feet and an empty wallet.

He sat down on the bed in his boxers and wrapped the comforter around his bare legs. Slurping his noodles, he pondered the issue at hand. He hadn't bought a new pair of pants in years, maybe a decade. He couldn't even remember his size.

Reluctantly, he took his phone and opened the next best online store to search for sweatpants. There were far too many far too similar results, and most of them looked too tight and athletic for his taste as well. Kibum should get one of those if he was going to visit a gym. What else was it he'd said? Something about trainers and cheerleaders?

Jinki tried imagining himself working out. Realizing that he didn't really know what that could entail, aside from push-ups and bench presses, he went on another online search.

 _This looks all right_ , he thought as he watched a video of a group of old men doing easy Pilates for back pain. Perhaps a physical routine would do his health some good — he did often have to grapple with tension in his back and shoulders, courtesy of his desk job.

With the hundreds of sweatpants and the impending doom of a shopping trip with Kibum before him, losing a couple of pounds through moderate exercise didn't sound too bad. He didn't have to get into extreme sports or become a bodybuilder; all he wanted was to avoid being forced to replace his entire wardrobe.

So encouraged, he opened a new tab and typed in ‘fitness Gangnam.’ It wasn't as if he had to buy anything either. He would only have a look.

Jinki called Kibum the next day during his break.

“I was just about to text you,” Kibum greeted him, a note of uncompromising impatience in his tone that only a long workday could bring out. “Who's Choi Minho, and why did you forward me those weird files he sent you? Please don't tell me you fell for spam ads again.”

“Ah, that's a medical form and a physical readiness questionnaire.” Jinki looked over the copies he had printed out earlier. “We have to fill them out and send them back before the first session.”

“Session?”

“Yes, that's why I called. I was trying to make an appointment with Mr. Choi, but I wasn't sure about your schedule—”

“What appointment? Who _is_ that guy?”

“Our new personal trainer, of course!” said Jinki fondly.

“Our WHAT?”

Choi Minho was usually booked out — that was the first thing Jinki had learned about him.

He'd scrolled through a list of recommendations for the best gyms and trainers in Seoul. Some names came with an asterisk and a warning of high demand, and among them was Choi Minho. Since Jinki wasn't sure how to choose the right person, he eventually decided to simply send an e-mail to every trainer on the list and pick whoever replied first.

Choi Minho had done so with the speed of lightning. Jinki hadn't even gotten to finish two mouthfuls of noodles when his phone dinged with the notification of an e-mail confirming Choi Minho had enough free slots for one to two single or couple sessions per week.

Once Kibum had overcome the initial shock and was filled in on all the details, he warmed up to Jinki's plan rather quickly. After Jinki apologized for the suddenness of it, Kibum became downright amicable. And so they arranged to meet at Jinki's apartment the following Saturday.

Kibum was fifteen minutes early, Choi Minho ten. The clothes their new trainer was wearing reminded Jinki of the pictures he'd found when searching for sweatpants online, athletic and skin-tight. Choi Minho looked exactly as he had in the photos on his website, including his broad grin; he was tall, neat, and fresh, and overall the physical embodiment of the slogan advertised on his homepage: ‘Anyone can be motivated to exercise — yes, you too!’

It started as soon as he arrived. Before Jinki even knew what hit him, he was being put through a complete fitness assessment.

Choi Minho breezed through his program with more energy and motivation than Jinki had seen anyone around him display in the past couple of years. The last time he remembered having mustered up this kind of zeal himself was when he and Kibum had fought their fiercest water gun battles at age ten.

Choi Minho went over their health forms with them, and his clipboard filled with information about their fitness goals (Jinki: “Fitting into my favorite pants again,” Kibum: “A cute butt. Oh, and improving my physical health.”), their diet (Jinki: “Anything, really,” Kibum: “Pizza, most of the time.”), their current level of activity (for which neither of them had much to show, except for Jinki's occasional bowling outings with the company), their hobbies, personal preferences, and current profession.

Choi Minho weighed them, measured what felt like every single body part, and made them go through a few basic exercises.

By the end of it, Jinki was sitting on his sofa next to Kibum, head buzzing from the whiplash of Choi Minho's working speed. The man was seated on a chair across from them and presented them with a summary of his observations.

“We can definitely achieve your goals,” he said with an air of unwavering certainty that made Jinki believe every word that left his mouth. “They're concrete and realistic, which is half the battle. If you're interested in giving it a shot, we could make it a recurring monthly package of four to eight sessions a month, depending on your schedule. You'll get a trial discount plus one free extra session, and you can cancel anytime.”

Choi Minho browsed through the folder on his lap and handed each of them a leaflet. “All the details are on here, including extra perks like video reviews, free e-books, things like that.”

Jinki had all of one second to read the leaflet before Choi Minho went on.

“If you need to sleep on it, that's absolutely fine. If you want to sign up right away, I have all the necessary forms with me, liability waiver, informed consent, and so forth, and we could start as early as tomorrow. Do you have any questions?”

Jinki turned his head and found Kibum staring back at him, mouth slightly agape and a look of overwhelmed confusion on his face that Jinki could very much empathize with.

Ten minutes later, they had signed the forms and scheduled two sessions per week for a month, every Saturday and Sunday at ten am.

Choi Minho's hand was tapping his knee as he scanned the notes on his clipboard once more. “Something that sticks out to me here is that both of you have office jobs,” he said thoughtfully, “and apart from shopping, neither of your hobbies require leaving the house.”

He raised his head, a shrewd spark in his eyes. “Do you know Cheongdam Park?”

“Yes,” said Jinki.

“Why?” asked Kibum.

Choi Minho was grinning again, wide and winsome. “Well, it's close by, isn't it? I was thinking we could do tomorrow's session outside.”

“Outside?” Jinki and Kibum echoed in unison, neither of them particularly enthused.

“Exactly! Some fresh air plus some light cardio. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor — it's a lot less boring than running on a treadmill. It's your choice, of course, but I warmly recommend giving it a try.”

There was something disarming about Choi Minho, Jinki thought — not necessarily because he was convinced, but because Kibum was too. He didn't even make a snide comment, only rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

“Great! I'll look for a good meeting spot as soon as I get home, and let you know right away.”

Choi Minho was about to leave when he paused one more time. “By the way, if you don't mind, I'd like you to just call me Minho,” he said. “It's up to you to speak as comfortably with me as you like. I want my clients to think of me as a friend.”

While Jinki appreciated the sentiment, he was already intent on maintaining some level of formality; he squirmed at the idea of foregoing this basic form of politeness. Kibum, on the other hand, scoffed at the explanation but seemed all too happy with dropping etiquette.

Minho looked happy, too. “You can reach me via e-mail at any time. I'm looking forward to tomorrow!”

When the door fell shut behind him, silence settled. Jinki and Kibum looked at each other for a few moments. The overload of information they'd received in the past hour or two was whirring through Jinki's brain, leaving it cluttered and confused.

Eventually, Kibum raised his voice. “I can't tell if this is going to be the best or the worst thing we've ever done.”


	2. A Saving Grace

To Jinki's relief, Minho was a tad more understated when they met up at Cheongdam Park than he'd been the previous day, perhaps due to the fact that he seemed to have jogged here, judging from the flush in his cheeks and the sweaty glow on his face. His grin, however, greeted them as brightly as ever.

“Good morning.” He gestured toward both of them. “These are your workout clothes?”

Jinki looked down on himself. He'd thrown on a loose shirt and the pair of worn baggy pants that had the least deathly grip on his crotch, although the legs were a bit too short. Kibum was wearing shorts as well as a shirt with pink and white stripes, matching his white, knee-high socks and pink chucks. Jinki thought he saw glitter on the shoelaces. His own trodden albeit comfortable sneakers cut quite the pitiful figure in comparison.

“I would advise you to invest in proper workout gear long-term,” said Minho amicably. “Shoes especially can make or break it. Well, you can consider it if you enjoy our time together.”

Jinki could practically sense the contempt radiating from Kibum — it usually wasn't a good idea to interfere with his clothing choices.

Minho either didn't mind or didn't notice. He commended them for bringing water bottles and finally led them into the park, reminding them twice of the importance of hydration on the way.

The fresh fall breeze brushed through the multicolored leaves with soft rustles and crackles. The farther they went in, the more the hustle and bustle of the Gangnam streets behind them faded away, leaving the serenity of the small woods to welcome them, and Jinki wondered why he didn't visit this place more often. It seemed so peaceful.

However, the quiet was soon interrupted by shouts and laughter when the paved walkway they followed passed a basketball court. Jinki's steps slowed involuntarily as he observed the goings-on.

Correctly interpreting his reaction, Minho said, “It can get a little crowded in the mornings. But don't worry, the paths should mostly be clear.”

Jinki hoped no one would pay them much attention. What this session was going to be like, he couldn't be certain, but he was relatively sure he would embarrass himself. Although it was probably fine as long as they didn't run into any of his colleagues from work.

He eyed the gigantic, heavy-looking bag slung over Minho's shoulder, debating whether he should ask what kinds of torture devices he'd brought with him.

As if by command, Minho came to a halt at the end of the basketball court, unzipped his bag, and whipped out his clipboard. He took the water bottles off of them and stuffed them in the bag (Jinki unsuccessfully tried to catch a glimpse of what was inside, but he did hear metallic clatter), only to drop the monstrosity on the paved ground with a noisy clonk, and then the workout began.

Similarly to their last meeting, everything happened so fast that Jinki had no time to think about what _was_ happening. He found himself in the middle of a dynamic stretch warm-up before he'd registered this was the real thing and they were actually working out, in public, no less.

“We have to prime and loosen the body for the main course later,” said Minho. “Get your heart rate up a bit, lubricate the joints, all that good stuff. You can really hurt yourself if you skip this step.”

From Kibum's wrinkled nose, Jinki assumed he, too, hoped to never hear about joint lubrication ever again.

But then, it seemed Jinki needed it. His body felt stiff and inflexible as he bobbed up and down in a lunge position, the stretch tugging at his hamstring even though his stance wasn't nearly as wide as Kibum's. The not-quite loose enough pants didn't aid his situation. However, Minho didn't comment on it, merely corrected Jinki's posture every now and then.

“All right,” Minho exclaimed a few minutes and several positions later, which Jinki gladly took as a cue to pop out of his squat, “now we're gonna get to the fun part! Are you ready for a little jog? I promise I put together the most lovely route.”

He made them drink some water while scribbling something on his clipboard before they started to jog along the paved path at a comfortable pace. At least Jinki supposed it was comfortable for Minho, as he looked utterly unfazed, lugging around his giant bag as if it were filled with feathers. Jinki himself was out of breath after less than a minute, and after about two, he heard Kibum panting beside him. After another bit, he only heard his own puffing breaths and racing heartbeat.

“Please remember,” said Minho, who was alternating between jogging in front of and behind them to watch their form, “anytime you are in physical pain, let me know immediately.”

“Uh, yes,” Kibum gasped, “I am currently in excruciating pain. Can I stop?”

Minho gave him a once-over. “Please also remember that we have to differentiate between pain and discomfort. A certain amount of discomfort is to be expected. Would you say your condition goes beyond that?”

“I don't know,” Kibum snapped, exasperation now exceeding the exhaustion in his voice. “I'm pretty sure I'm dying, is that to be expected?”

“Well, it's subjective.” Minho's friendliness didn't waver. “But since we've been running for less than five minutes, I'd suggest we keep at it for a little longer. We can slow down though.”

And so they did, Kibum accepting with a grumble.

Minho talked a lot; about the best way to roll over one's foot when jogging, about the health benefits of fresh air, about how many activities people tended to perform inside could be moved outdoors. He got slightly out of breath himself, but all the while his happy expression never faded, nor the enthusiasm in his tone. Jinki welcomed any small distraction from the sting in his lungs and thighs.

However, it wasn't much use once they jogged uphill. Minho went ahead with nimble steps, and Jinki and Kibum trudged after him. They weren't even halfway up the hill, and it wasn't even a hill so much as a slight slope, but the burn in Jinki's lungs spread into his body with every step he took. He gave a strangled wheeze.

“I know,” Kibum panted beside him, quietly enough that Minho couldn't hear. “This is hell. We're in hell, Jinki.”

That didn't sound far off. The stitch that was developing in Jinki's side certainly felt like hell.

“I'm not coming here again,” Kibum hissed. “Anywhere else next time. Or no next time at all. Oh my God, there's so many people. Screw losing weight, I wanna go home.”

Jinki wheezed again, hoping it sounded like an agreement. He wasn't keen on wasting the little air he had on speaking. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, and he was sure his face was as beet red as Kibum's. He didn't bother checking if the people that passed them were looking at them, but they probably were. His clothes were stuck to his body, the fresh fall air cooling down the dampness but providing little relief from the heat burning under his skin.

However, Minho wasn't done. The worst was yet to come — the worst being high-intensity interval training, which, from what Jinki could gather in his state of exhaustion, involved short periods of time where they'd have to run as fast as they could. He didn't think he could run any faster anymore. He also doubted the long intervals of recovery would provide much of said recovery if they required any sort of movement. It was certain Kibum only agreed to it because Minho promised they would take it easy and burn a lot of fat, and Jinki only agreed because he lacked the energy to disagree.

Kibum was right — this had to be hell. After the first high-speed interval, Jinki was sure of it. There was nothing he could think of besides the sting in his sides, the burn in his legs, the fire he was breathing. He had to stop. His lungs were going to burst if he took one more step.

Suddenly, he heard something odd. A sound so out of place that it distracted him from his mortal agony for the moment. A guitar chord.

He shook his head, heavy and sluggish. Perhaps he was going insane.

But there it was again. Somewhere, someone was strumming a guitar. It couldn't quite be hell, then, he thought. Surely, there were no guitars in hell?

This sentiment was reinforced, as there was another sound now. A voice. And Jinki was positive there were no angels in hell.

He tried listening past his own panting breaths to hear it more clearly. It sounded enchanting; slightly husky, bright yet with a depth to it, and captivatingly agile. Soon, he was entirely focused on it, anticipating every note and every guitar chord.

The voice floated, silken and weightless, mingled with the fall breeze, carried by it, carried it, and Jinki was floating too, free and secure, among the tender notes and gentle melody. Delicately, it surrounded him and shrouded him in its spell, and there was nothing else. Words were sung, words he couldn't understand, yet each one of them reached and soothed something deep inside him.

Far too soon did the lovely music fade out of his hearing, overpowered more and more by the dissonance of cars honking and people chattering and shouting. He frowned and sighed; it was as though he'd been woken up from a pleasant dream.

Then Jinki realized he wasn't running anymore. He was walking. Not only that, he was walking out of Cheongdam Park. He blinked and shook his head once more, looking around to find Minho and Kibum next to him, coming to a halt at the entrance to the park.

“Wait, what?” Jinki blurted out, and the two stared at him. He tried to think of a more articulate way to express his confusion. “Uh… It's over?”

Kibum's stare grew even more bewildered, but Minho laughed.

“Yes!” he said, giving Jinki his broadest grin yet. “And you did great. Time flies once you get past a certain point, doesn't it?”

“I suppose,” Jinki mumbled. He was beginning to feel his body again. A dull ache was sitting in his muscles, he was shaking, and his limbs seemed to be filled with lead; and somewhere among all of it, there was an odd sense of satisfaction. Whether it was worth the pain was hard to say at this point.

He thought back to the voice that had seemingly guided him through the toughest phase all the way to the finish line. “We'll come here again next time too, right?”

Minho was beaming. “If you liked it, of course!”

Jinki wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone as pleased with themselves as Minho as he gave them a rundown of his first impressions as well as a few tips to decrease soreness the next day. There was barely a layer of sweat on his forehead; Kibum, meanwhile, looked like a wet dog, and Jinki assumed he himself wasn't any better off.

“Did you also enjoy our session?” Minho then turned to ask Kibum.

Jinki knew the smile Kibum gave in response — it was the one he wore when he had to pretend to be amicable for business reasons but was secretly wishing all imaginable evils on the other person.

“I've never experienced anything like it in my life.”

“Great!” said Minho, oblivious to the silent curses that were no doubt thrown at him. “That concludes things for today, then. But before we part ways, let me give you something I've prepared for you… They're just suggestions, of course.”

It turned out he'd put together several workout plans for them. From what Jinki could see of the ones Kibum was handed, they were different from his. Jinki leafed through the batch of papers and found each plan had been marked for its intended purpose in rather creative ways. One paper with a smiling sun in the upper corner read ‘For sunny days,’ another that had a frog with a sad face on it said ‘For rainy days.’ There was a plan for lazy days, one for busy days, one for happy days — one for virtually any kind of days one could think of. The level of intensity seemed to be indicated by up to five chili peppers in the other corner. Jinki was quite touched by Minho's efforts.

Additionally, he thrust another stack of papers into a surprised Kibum's hand.

“You said last time that you like cooking, right?” said Minho cheerily. “These are some of my favorite recipes. Extra nutritious and super delicious. You can give them a try if you'd like!”

Jinki's home was closest, and so he and Kibum walked there together to wash up and eat and probably sleep for the rest of the day.

“You seemed really eager to go to Cheongdam Park again all of a sudden,” said Kibum stiffly. “I thought we agreed we wouldn't.”

Jinki shrugged. Had they talked about that? The mysterious voice had eradicated any memory of such an agreement. “I don't mind. Sorry if I cut you short, I forgot you said you didn't like it there. We don't have to come back if you hate it that much.”

Kibum snorted, but it didn't sound like an angry snort. “Whatever, it's fine… I can give it another shot. At least Cheongdam Park is close. By the way, did you pass out at some point? You looked like you were sleepwalking during cool-down. And you had that really dopey smile on your face.”

“Oh, we did a cool-down?” Jinki had no memory of that either.

Kibum gave him a side eye that told Jinki he was thoroughly weirded out. “Yeah, about ten minutes? You suck at stretching.”

Now that Kibum mentioned it, Jinki did remember something like that, vague notions of attempts to bend down to his toes and to reach his hands behind his back appearing in his mind.

“I suppose I'm not very flexible.”

After a few brief moments of silence, Kibum snorted again, and this time it was unmistakably disdainful. “That guy,” he muttered. “What a pretentious prick with his clipboard. Has he not heard that tablets exist?”

Jinki hummed pensively. “Maybe he doesn't like to use them. I've never really gotten the hang of it myself.”

“Right. You two grandpas will get along just great.”

“He's quite fit for a grandpa.”

Kibum gave an odd, spluttering cough. “Oh my God, don't get me started on how he's always flaunting his stupid biceps. He even flashed his abs twice — _twice_! Thinks he's so cool too. _Light cardio_ my ass… He knew what he was doing, kept grinning while watching us suffer, I wanted to punch his stupid smiley face so bad the whole time, and if he's like that again next week, I might just—“

“You know,” Jinki interrupted, watching him with raised eyebrows, “we could always get someone else.”

Kibum shot him an icy glare. His hair was still damp and his cheeks still flushed pink. He was clutching the workout plans and recipes Minho had given him securely with both hands. “I'm not doing that assessment thing again. We're sticking with this guy.”

Kibum bought both of them workout shoes the next day; Jinki was more impressed that he knew his shoe size than with the purchase itself. It didn't surprise him that Kibum's new pair was still pink, most likely just to spite their trainer.

Minho kept in touch with them throughout the week, asking about their condition and possible developments. The crippling soreness in Jinki's muscles began to recede after two days, but he still didn't feel like whipping out any of Minho's workout plans.

Nevertheless, even though it was likely his imagination, Jinki thought his pants fit a tad better already. So when he made his way to Cheongdam Park on Saturday morning, he was in cheerful spirits.

He arrived perfectly on time to find Minho and Kibum standing by the entrance, chatting away. Jinki was pleased to see no blows seemed to have been exchanged just yet.

“You left me alone with the idiot,” Kibum murmured to him while they were walking to their starting spot close to the basketball court.

“I didn't know you'd be early,” said Jinki pleasantly. “And I think he's rather nice!”

There was no chance for a retort, as Minho cut off their conversation with a clap of his hands. “Ready to get started? We're doing some new, fun stuff today!”

The ‘new, fun stuff’ was muscle training with a couple of dumbbells Minho pulled from his bag. Jinki liked it more than the stretching, although he briefly reconsidered when Minho switched his dumbbells for heavier ones.

“Looked too easy to me,” he told Jinki with a wink.

Jinki gave a strained laugh in response, clutching the new dumbbells tightly. “I guess the bowling paid off, huh?”

Minho was meticulous about their form, correcting their stance and posture again and again until Jinki felt like he'd completely relearned the act of standing on two feet.

Eventually, they began to jog once more. To Jinki's surprise, the new shoes actually worked to make his feet hurt less and his steps a bit lighter.

He caught himself listening with hopeful ears for the delicate guitar plucks or the feathery voice from last time, but there was nothing aside from Minho and Kibum talking. He wondered if it was possible he'd hallucinated due to lack of oxygen.

“C-can you just— ugh. Just burn my thigh fat or something?” he heard Kibum gasp. “Like, my butt itself isn't that bad, but my thighs…”

“Unfortunately, we can't spot reduce,” Minho said, barely a quiver in his voice. “What we can do is burn overall body fat and build more muscle in the parts you want to— well. Have more mass.”

Kibum groaned in response. “Oh, so even more working out. Fantastic.”

“Are you okay? I can go easier on you if—“

“I'm _perfectly fine_ , thank you very much.”

They passed a mineral spring, where they refilled their bottles before continuing. Jinki tried to count his breaths to keep them even like Minho had recommended to them earlier, but it didn't take long until he was panting and his control slipped. His shirt was damp already.

The route they took today was longer than the last, and so they had a short break when they reached an open area that was divided into two by the path — a workout zone with some fitness equipment to the right, which was utterly deserted, and what looked like a recreational spot on the left, where people were sitting around on the ground and on small benches. Some of them were meditating, others reading or merely resting. Minho advised Jinki and Kibum to keep moving during the break, even just a bit, and so Kibum started stretching while Jinki took to strolling around aimlessly.

Then he heard it again. The strum of a guitar, the gentle hum of a voice. Only this time, it was much closer.

He turned his head. On one of the benches of the recreational area sat a man, legs crossed and a guitar resting on top.

Jinki could do nothing but stare. Last time, there had only been that disembodied voice, carrying him through and keeping his mind away from his hardship. He hadn't even considered locating the source of it, for whatever reason. It seemed foolish now that the voice suddenly had a face.

An extremely handsome face.

A loud clatter and a pang in his knee shook Jinki out of his thoughts. It appeared he'd walked right into the nearest trashcan.

Hastily and without checking if anyone was looking his way, he turned around and walked back to where Minho and Kibum were standing — they, at least, were looking straight at him, both with raised eyebrows. Jinki tripped over his own feet on his way, but he managed not to fall over and eventually made it safely.

“You okay?” asked Kibum.

“If you're feeling too exhausted, we can call it a day,” said Minho, worry evident on his face.

“No, no, I'm all right,” mumbled Jinki. The music was still floating around the place, which was somewhat reassuring. Maybe the man hadn't seen anything. “Didn't see it coming, that's all.”

“You walked right at it,” said Kibum.

“Lost in thought.” Jinki rolled back his shoulders and tried coming up with a stretching exercise he could do to cover up how scatterbrained he was. He ended up copying Kibum.

It was a different melody than last time, light and jaunty, but equally pretty. The lyrics were clearly audible now as well, precise and tender in nature, and they easily melted into the music they were embedded in as they told their story, conjuring up images of a flowery spring and fairy dust in Jinki's mind. He wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to run and hide but also wanted to stay and listen, stay and watch.

In the end, a decision was made for him. They had to move on with their jogging, and that meant they had to pass by the man. Jinki couldn't help looking.

The man, on the other hand, wasn't looking at anything. His eyes were closed, lips curved up on one side into a relaxed half-smile. Although his clothes didn't look fancy, Jinki had learned enough from Kibum to know that they were fashionable: ripped jeans, elegant ankle boots, a light sweater, and a patterned jacket draped over his shoulders. His hair, dyed white blond, stood out against his tan skin. And out of his mouth soared the sweet song that wrapped the world in a blanket of calm and carefree.

Jinki wished he didn't have to keep running, but eventually, the man disappeared from his line of sight. His voice, however, followed him long thereafter, even when he couldn't hear it anymore.

The next day, Jinki brought a backpack to Cheongdam Park. Inside was his water bottle and a small gift bag. He'd gone grocery shopping after the previous session and, on a whim, decided he needed to express his appreciation for the beautiful music the busker played. Jinki hoped this was the way to do it. After all, the busker gifted him with musical distraction from the grueling ordeal of physical exercise, so the least Jinki could do was repay him with a gift or two of his own. If the man was there, he'd take a chance.

It turned out he was there. Again, Jinki heard him before he saw him. It was a different spot than the day before: the path wrapped itself around a small island of grass sparsely populated by trees, rocks, and benches. On one of the benches sat a young couple in leggings and sweaters, presumably here for a workout as well; on the other sat the busker. Apart from the turtleneck sweater, he was wearing the same clothes as last time.

The song he was currently strumming was more playful and upbeat than the previous ones had been. It made Jinki feel weightless, made him want to keep moving, run faster even, despite his sore muscles.

The guitar case lay open on the ground, and there appeared to be a few things in it, among them a bouquet of flowers. It gave Jinki more confidence in his plan. Giving a busker a small something wasn't so unusual, was it? He would simply play it cool.

He hoped his face wasn't too red. They'd only just started jogging, so his clothes weren't yet sticking to his skin, which was a good sign. He fell behind Minho and Kibum, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He couldn't help suspecting Kibum would make a bigger deal out of this than it was, and it wouldn't be long until Jinki would lack the breath to explain himself. Minho and Kibum were in the middle of an animated albeit winded debate about glute exercises, so Jinki figured he was safe.

His heart wasn't quite racing but certainly jogging at a brisk pace as he unzipped his backpack, took out the gift bag, and rushed over to where the busker was sitting. His voice sounded beautiful up close too. Indeed, there was a strange, gentle intimacy in it that only grew with every inch of closed distance.

In addition to the flowers, Jinki spotted snacks and a couple of coins in the guitar case. He wondered if the perfume and chocolates he'd bought were a bit much after all — perhaps he should have asked Kibum what would be an appropriate gift for a busker beforehand.

Well, it hardly mattered now. He was too close to back out anymore. He plucked up his courage and put the bag into the case.

As he straightened back up, his eyes met the busker's. Their shape was graceful, their color a deep shade of brown, and there was a curious, vibrant glint in them that lit them up brightly. Then the man winked.

Jinki acted upon his immediate reflex — to bow out and run.

Thanks to the path going around the small grass island, and his wink-induced panic, he was able to quickly catch up with Minho and Kibum. His heart was pounding as if he'd just sprinted through the whole park.

The moment he saw Kibum's piercing gaze locked in on him, Jinki knew he was aware something was up. Still, it was worth it in the end. Even with the little hiccup, Jinki had been able to deliver his appreciation in the form of a gift, and that was all that mattered.

As they continued on their way, what kept his mind off the ache in his muscles wasn't just the music lacing the air, slowly fading over time, but also the memory of how those shining eyes had winked at him and how it had made his heart flutter.

This experience only served as motivation for Jinki to repeat his endeavor. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of taking things for free, especially performances of such caliber that he felt he should be paying horrific sums to witness them at a high-class venue. One gift bag didn't seem like enough.

And so, he began taking his backpack to every subsequent session; each time, he thought of a new small something he could offer as a token of his gratitude. These small somethings included fragrances, flowers, trinkets, and chocolates of all kinds — naturally all purchased from the finest specialty stores in the area.

However, he never dared to raise his eyes to look into the man's again.

When he rejoined Minho and Kibum after delivering his gift for the third time, Kibum welcomed him with a long, appraising stare.

“He smiled,” he eventually said dryly.

If Jinki's face hadn't already been aflame from physical exertion, there would have been a significant rise in temperature then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/softraincloud), in case you wanna get in touch :)


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